


We Are Not Puritans in France

by QuestionableLiteraryMerit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Hogwarts AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuestionableLiteraryMerit/pseuds/QuestionableLiteraryMerit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is determined to get to know Derek Hale, the new foreign exchange student that he just met in Potions class. The problem is that the guy won't even give him the time of day! What's up with that? </p><p>Romance aside, Derek has a secret. He's at Hogwarts for a very special reason. Might it have something to do with the sudden disappearance of Professor Remus Lupin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stiles Stilinski and the Furious Foreigner

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by fan art created by the lovely Ms. Alexa (http://pembroke.tumblr.com). One of her pieces depicts a Harry Potter/Teen Wolf crossover wherein Derek is from Beauxbatons and Stiles is a Hufflepuff kid. Fracking CUTE. See? (http://pembroke.tumblr.com/post/31385882949/its-my-headcanon-for-this-that-derek-speaks). 
> 
> My fic strays a bit from her headcanon as far as language is concerned, but I hope the plot makes up for that :D
> 
> My apologies in advance to people who actually speak/know French. My translations were the clumsy result of using Google's Translator to the best of my ability. I am also not 100% Harry Potter savvy, but I think all my school details are kosher/canon-ish. If you find any egregious errors, please don't hesitate to contact me and I will adjust accordingly.
> 
> Final note: The title was inspired by an obscure Natalie Merchant promotional video that she did for her Ophelia album. If you have any idea what I'm talking about, Congratulations! You are a fellow music nerd and I love you for getting that reference.

Stiles had already decided it in his mind.

This year was going to be different.

When he first attended Hogwarts four years ago, Stiles was busy playing catch-up. Being a Muggle-Born student was problematic enough because he didn’t know a single thing about the wizarding world. What made his predicament so much worse was the fact that he was a full year behind his peers. For some strange reason, the school’s magic-detection system hadn’t caught him in time to attend classes with those at his same age level. Upon his arrival, he had been sorted with the first years and was subsequently teased by the most of the second year students. However, this indignation only fueled Stiles’ fervor to do better. After begging several teachers for extra work, he managed to complete the necessary material for both first _and_ second year students. Stiles powered through and passed both years’ finals in record time (a feat that impressed even cynical ol' Professor Snape).

Still, this grand accomplishment didn’t astound the headmaster. Not even for even a second. During the Sorting Hat Ceremony, Dumbledore had seen a look of firm determination in Stiles’ eyes. It was no surprise to him that the boy had managed to catch up. He was a Hufflepuff after all...

Industriousness.

That’s kind of their "thing," isn’t it?

During his second year (or academically his third year) Stiles finally had a chance to breathe a bit and make some real friends. He discovered that one of the benefits of group study was the occasional abandonment of academics in favor of collaborative mischief-making. A dusty, magical institution like Hogwarts was an absolute breeding ground for adolescent chicanery, and with the help of his three best friends, Scott, Lydia, and Allison, Stiles got into his more than his fair share of trouble.

His third year (academically his fourth if you’re keeping track correctly) marked a major milestone for Stiles because it was the year he finally came out. His friends were unwavering in their support, but Stiles’ confidence was still fragile. Near the end of the last term, he finally got up the nerve to ask a friendly Ravenclaw student, Danny Mahealani, to join him on a weekend visit to Hogsmeade. Danny accepted the offer, but misunderstood Stiles’ intentions. They had a fantastic evening together, so they continued to go out on a regular basis.  One night, when the two boys were busy studying for finals, Stiles leaned over and tried to kiss Danny. Danny dodged the effort, much to Stiles’ chagrin, and then nervously explained that although he was flattered and thought Stiles was terribly sweet, he did not feel the same way about him.

Stiles was absolutely _mortified._ The next year, he took a veritable vow of romantic silence and refused to talk to any other boys of potential significance. He focused on friends, his school work, and precious little else. His social life was unspectacular, but he passed his O.W.L.S. with flying colors.

But of course all that romantic failure was in the past now. Ancient history, even! 

Stiles heartened at the prospect of a fresh start. This year, the moment he stepped into the castle, Stiles _knew_ that things would be different.

No longer would he be vague about his interest. No longer would he shrink from a challenge. This was _his_ year to conquer that savage beast known as love. 

True, it was a somewhat lofty goal, but why couldn’t he dare to dream? He was smart, good-looking, good-natured….and most important of all, he could make even the snarkiest Slytherin piss his pants with laughter. That was a gift, damn it. And so was he.

Hence, it was with this self-inflated air of confidence that Stiles firmly planted himself down in the back of his advanced Potions class. He nodded smugly as he surveyed the classroom stretching out before him, taking stock of the occupants, wondering if any of them might prove to be potential suitors. Yes, sir. This was the year.

This year he resolved to be bold.

The year he resolved to be brave.

This year he would _finally_ get a date!

Preferably with someone who actually knew they were dating this time…

The door hinges squeaked loudly as one last student hurried to get inside before class started.  Stiles startled a bit as he was suddenly shaken from his motivational daydream fantasy. He looked up expecting to scoff at the nearly tardy pupil, but instead he could only stare with his mouth slightly open. Stiles was utterly mesmerized by what was, undoubtedly, the most gorgeous-looking guy he had ever seen in his entire life. He was standing there, at the front of the class, scanning the room for an open seat.

The guy was longer in the tooth. Definitely a seventh year, _at least_. Even with the flowing blue robes obscuring his exact shape, Stiles could still tell that his build was lovely, Romanesque even.  He had a rippling upper body physique that tapered at his torso, creating the outline of a sexy, masculine triangle.

Cursory glances were delicious enough, but it was the finer details that really made Stiles’ heart beat faster. This guy had some _seriously_ good bone structure. His face was all sharp edges and hard curves, with a jaw that looked like it could cut glass. There was also whisper of black scruff trying to peek out from behind his cheeks. One could follow that shadowy trail all the way down to his chin and then upward toward the most beautiful bloom of pink lips Stiles had ever seen on a boy.

The boy began to move from the front of the classroom toward Stiles. Stiles twitched as he felt all the confidence drain out of his chest. The wind of the boy’s walk swirled his azure robes outward creating a billowy-

“ _Wait. Back up a second,”_ Stile thought to himself. “ ** _Azure_** _robes?”_

The boy continued to make his way down the aisle.  He slid into the seat in front of Stiles. Stiles offered up a quick prayer of thanks before he leaned forward a bit to admire his robes (as well as the backside that framed them).

“ _Yup, azure. That’s definitely azure,”_ Stiles mused as he propped his chin up with his hands. “ _Or is it teal?  Cerulean maybe_?  _Periwinkle? Robin’s egg?“_

Damn it all to hell. Names didn’t matter. It was a cool, beautiful blue that looked so good on…on this boy…this boy who was clearly not from Hogwarts. No. He couldn’t be. Not with that uniform. That sexy, _sexy_ uniform.

Oh.

Oh, yes.

It was all coming back to him now…

This year a student exchange program had been put into place whereby individuals from wizarding schools around the world could study at Hogwarts for the semester. A handful of Hogwarts students had been selected to go study as those same foreign schools. Danny was actually one of the lucky participants. He had told Stiles late last term that he’d be leaving for the Durmstrang Academy before classes started and wouldn’t see him again until after the winter break. Stiles supposed that the boy in blue must be an exchange student as well.

Stiles continued to stare at the boy’s backside until he shook himself from his horny stupor. He reminded himself of his mantra ( _Be brave! Be bold!)_ and puffed out his chest a little before clearing his throat.

“ _Hey_ ,” he whispered at the boy’s back.

The boy didn’t move.

“ _HEY_ ,” he whispered again, this time a little louder.

Still nothing.

Stiles frowned.

This was not the epic beginning he had hoped for.

Time for a change in tactics.

Stiles reached out his hand and gently tapped the boy on his shoulder.

This time, the boy turned.

His eyes looked surprised. Surprised, intense, and perhaps even slightly offended by the Stiles' simple gesture. His jaw was tight, seemingly wired shut. If Stiles hadn’t known better, he would have guessed the boy was angry with him.

Stiles panicked and cranked his charm to ten.

“Sweet threads,” he said with a grin as he pointed to the boy’s outfit.

The boy stared at Stiles, then down as his own sleeves. His eyes narrowed.

Stiles let out a nervous giggle.“Uh, so…yeah. The name’s Stiles.” He punctuated this remark with a tiny wave. “Where do you hail from?”

The boy perked up a bit at this question. He opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped. He stared at Stiles for a moment before he slowly turned his chair around, leaving Stiles out in the cold.

Stiles huffed.

He had prepared himself for outright rejection or definite dismissal, but not…whatever _that_ was. The boy’s strange response was one reaction around which Stiles could _not_ wrap his head.

He refused to give up so easily.

“ _Hey. Heeeeey.”_ Stiles whispered. _“I-“_

“MISTER. Stillinski!” a severe voice called out from the front. “Is there something that you’d like to _share_ with the rest of the class?”

Stiles instantly shut his mouth. He had been so distracted by the boy that he hadn’t even realized Professor Snape had started lecturing. He quaked as he answered. “N-no sir. Nothing to share here.”

“No amusing summer anecdotes?”

“No, sir.”

“ Not even a thrilling narrative about a trip you took to some dirty muggle beach where you and a coterie of salacious co-eds _splashed about_ _in the ocean_?”

“No sir,” Stiles grinned. “I did go to the beach, but there were no co-eds there. Salacious or otherwise.”

A few classmates snickered at Stiles’ comment. Snape, however, wasn’t amused.

“Such daring wit. Perhaps a penalty will remind you to keep that tenacious trap of yours _closed_ _in my classroom_ when you have not been called upon. TEN POINTS FROM HUFFLEPUFF!”

A Slytherin in the back row snickered. “ _Yeah, like that’ll make a difference.”_

Stiles groaned. He slouched in his seat and started taking notes, trying his best not to focus on the immense failure of a day he was having so far. Somehow, in a span of less than ten minutes, he had managed to put Hufflepuff House in the red, stoke Snape’s ire, _and_ strike out with the most gorgeous guy in the world. “ _Good job, Stillinski,”_ he thought to himself. “ _That’s gotta be some kind of world record is losership.”_

Stiles shook his head sadly. He glanced up from his desk and noticed that the boy with the blue robes was staring at him from behind his shoulder. His head quickly darted forward once he realized Stiles had caught him looking. He stared down at his desk and began scribbling on his parchment.

Stiles tilted his head to the side. “ _Was he looking at me just now?”_ Stiles asked himself.

Once Snape dismissed them, Stiles got up to walk out with the new kid, but he was too fast for him. Before he knew it, the boy had disappeared. Stiles exhaled his disappointment in a mighty huff before he continued on his way to his next class.

***

“Dude!” Scott exclaimed, almost falling off his perch on the bench. “You already cost us housepoints?”

“Thank you, Scott,” Stiles sighed. “When I told you that story I was hoping you’d find some way to make me feel worse about myself than I already do.”

Stiles had come from class clearly looking dejected, so his friends insisted that he tell them what happened. They sat before him in a neat row on an elongated stone bench located in the castle courtyard, looking altogether like some reality tv show judge’s panel in the process. Lydia and Allison were in the middle while Jackson and Scott bookended the quartet .

“Don’t sweat it,” Lydia said with a dismissive wave as she glanced at her reflection in her pocket mirror. “Nobody cares who wins the House Cup except overachieving Gryfindors and insecure Slytherins.”

“Hey!” Jackson protested. He tugged defensively at his own silver and green tie.

“Lydia!” Allison said as she flung her gold and scarlet scarf backwards behind her shoulder. “That’s not a very _accurate_ statement, is it?”

Lydia put down her mirror. “You’ll notice that I didn’t specify _either_ of you in that remark. It was just a sweeping generalization that you _both_ took personally. Paranoid much?”

“Yeah?” Jackson challenged. “Well, when was the last time Ravenclaw won a House Cup?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Lydia said with a haughty shrug. “Now everyone hush and let Stiles finish his story. I want to hear more about the guy with the golden jaw!”

Allison looked up at Stiles with hopeful eyes. “Do you really think he was staring at you, Stiles?”

“I swear he was. I’m not making that part up. Problem is though, I don’t know if that actually _means_ anything. He wouldn’t say a word to me when I tried to talk to him.”

Allison glanced to her left. “And you said that he was wearing a different uniform, right? A blue one?”

“Yeah...”

“With gold trim and buttons on the vest?” She asked, gesturing to the vest of her own uniform.

“Yeah! Wait, how…how did you know that?”

Allison cocked an eyebrow. “Well, that good-looking guy in blue robes over _there_ sure seems to match most of his description!” Alison said as she gestured to her far left.

Everyone on the bench craned their necks at the same time in order to look in the direction Allison had pointed. Sure enough, there was the boy in blue, all alone, reading under a tree in the courtyard. He was furiously frowning at what appeared to be a map of the castle.

“Ohhhh!” Lydia cooed. “Golden Jaw looks lonely. We should all go over and say hello!”

“Let’s not and say we did,” Jackson sneered.

Stiles waved down his friends. “No. No. No. We can’t! We just…we _can’t_. Look. I know that face, okay? That’s his angry face, trust me. He was wearing that exact same expression when I tried to talk to him.”

Lydia took a hard look at the boy. “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “You’re wrong. I maintain that he looks sad. We should vote on it though, just to be fair. Jackson?”

“I hate agreeing with Stiles on _anything_ , but I’m going to have to go with...angry.”

Stiles was shocked. “Wow, Jackson. I'm actually feeling something close to gratitude toward you!”

“Don’t,” Jackson grinned. “It’s just easier for me to believe that having to listen to you talk _enrages_ people rather than depresses them.”

Stiles nodded. “Right. Going to pretend that I didn’t hear that.”

“Scott?” Lydia continued.

“I’m going to say...sad.”

“Dude! Whose side are you on here?”

“Sorry, man. But he does! He looks really really sad.”

“Allison?” Lydia smiled.  “You’re the tiebreaker.”

Allison didn’t even hesitate. “Sad. Definitely sad. I mean, wouldn’t you be sad too if you were away from home? In a strange place with no one you knew?

“And the first person to welcome you here was…Stiles?” Jackson added.

Allison leaned over and gently swatted him on the arm. “Jackson, stop it!

“Well, it’s official!” Lydia declared. “The sads have it, Stiles! We’re going over and talking to him.”

Stiles sighed. His friends jumped up from the bench as one unit. They began to march over to the boy with all the coordinated urgency of an invading army. Stiles tucked himself away in the back, hoping that the boy wouldn’t recognize him. Once they reached the bench, the boy looked up and blinked a few times, bewildered by the instantaneous mob of people that had suddenly surrounded him. Lydia stepped forward and took over the introductions.

“Hi! Welcome to Hogwarts. My name is Lydia Martin,” She began pointing to her friends one by one, counting them off. “This is Allison Argent, Scott McCall, Jackson Whittemore, and Stiles Stilinksi. He has a real first name but it’s weird so we just pretend it doesn’t exist.”

“A policy I wish we would adopt more frequently with people,” Jackson quipped.

The boy looked overwhelmed. His eyes danced over the entire group. They paused briefly when they landed on Stiles. He blinked and then quickly looked away from him back to Lydia.

“Derek,” the boy proclaimed as he clapped a hand over his chest. The group nodded collectively to indicate that they understood. Immediately, the girls laid into “Derek” with a barrage of comments and questions.

“Where are you from?”

“How are you enjoying Hogwarts so far?”

“What classes are you taking?”

“I _love_ those robes!”

“Blue is definitely your color!”

Derek’s jaw tightened. He fidgeted and glanced back and forth between the two girls before he finally looked down and stared at his feet.

Jackson exhaled loudly. “Well, I’m certainly glad we decided to come over. He’s a _sparkling_ conversationalist.”

Lydia turned to hug Jackson. She dug her nails into his arm while she squeezed him tight. He suppressed the urge to scream out in pain while she looked at Derek and tittered apologetically to make up for Jackson’s rudeness.

Scott and Stiles were practically frozen in place, left completely nonplussed by Derek’s odd behavior. Allison, however, was starting to connect the dots. She studied Derek’s uniform carefully before she spoke, knowing that she had seen the design somewhere before.

“Derek? Are you from the Beauxbatons Academy?”

Derek’s head shot up. “Oui! Oui!” He said tapping his chest. “Beauxbatons.”

Allison approached Derek as one would a skittish animal that had the tendency to scurry away when spooked. She slowly took a seat next to him on the stone bench. “ _Parlez-vous Anglais_?” she whispered.

“ _No_ ,” Derek whispered back. “Parlez-vous Français?!” He asked hopefully.         

Allison nodded. “Un peu. J'ai grandi en France avant que ma famille a dû déménager aux États-Unis.”

Derek’s eyes widened with relief. Immediately, a flood of French starting pouring forth from his mouth. He began gesturing wildly along with his words. His expressive face twisted and contorted along with his speech, flickering on and off in such a way that it almost seemed like he was having a fit. After so much silence and stiffness, it felt strange to see Derek come alive in his native tongue. It was almost like they were speaking to a completely different person.

Stiles discovered that he actually enjoyed listening to Derek’s melodic voice. He felt drawn to it, almost as if it had its own gravity. Of course, he had no idea what Derek was actually _saying_ , but the sheer happiness and utter desperation in his voice rang through loud and clear.

“ _Wow_ ,” Stiles thought to himself. “ _If he was hot before, when he’s spazing out in French he’s downright scorchi_ -“

“Allison! What is he _saying_?!” Scott whined.

Allison held up a hand to halt Scott from speaking any further while she tried to parse through Derek’s frantic French.

“ _Shut up, Scott_!” Stiles whispered. “Let her concentrate!”

Derek finally finished. Allison nodded, touched his hand tenderly, and then turned to interpret what he had said for the benefit of her friends.  

“He said that he was walking through the halls this morning when he was attacked by some mean guys with green ties.”

“Those assy Slytherins!” Stiles interjected through his gritted teeth. He turned quickly to address his snakey cohort. “No offense, Jackson.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “None taken, Huffleshit.”

Allison ignored them both and continued. “They started picking on him until somebody finally pushed him into a pillar. He hit his head and the force of the blow broke the Lingaudiograph that his uncle had bought him for his trip to Hogwarts.”

“Oh no!” Lydia exclaimed.

“A Lingaudio- _what_?” Stiles asked, still unfamiliar with most of the wizarding world outside of Hogwarts.

“A lingaudiograph,” Allison began. “It’s a device that fits in your ear and lets you understand foreign languages. Kind of like a…like a muggle hearing aid? Some can even translate your speech so that other people speaking those languages can understand you as well. The nice ones are virtually invisible and _really_ expensive.”

Allison glanced back at Derek with a sympathetic smile. “Derek says he can read some English, but he has a really hard time speaking it and understanding it when it’s spoken. He’s embarrassed because he’s not sure what to do next and he didn't know how to ask anyone for help.”

“Awwwwwww,” Lydia gasped as she clasped her hands over her chest.

“Lydia, _stop_ _cooing_ ,” Jackson chastised. “He’s not a lost puppy.”

“This all makes perfect sense now!” Lydia said she as she slapped Stiles across the shoulder. “ _That’s_ why he didn’t talk to you! He had no idea what you were saying!”

Derek tilted his head and turned to Allison “Quoi?”         

“Il ne comprenait pas pourquoi tu ne parlerais pas de lui en classe.”

“ _Allison_!” Stiles shrieked. “Don’t translate _that_!”

“Sorry,” Allison winced. “I was sort of getting into an interpreter groove there for a second.”

Derek rattled off another paragraph at Allison. She screwed her lips and then turned to Stiles.“He says that you confused him in class. You told him that his clothes were made of…sugar?”

“What?” Stiles asked. “Oh! OH! Uh, I said he had _sweet threads_. I meant that his robes looked nice!”

“And somehow you knew his last name?”

Everyone glared suspiciously at Stiles.

“I don’t know his last name! I didn’t even know his first name the first time I spoke to him. What’s his last name?”

Allison turned back to Derek. “Quel est votre nom de famille?”

Derek hesitated for a moment before he answered. “Hale.”

“Hale,” Allison repeated with a nod.

Jackson snorted. “Um, did we really need that translated?”

 “Oh! I know!” Stiles said as he slapped his forehead.  “I asked him where he was _from_. I asked him from where he _hails_.”

Lydia folded her arms. “You can’t use colloquialisms or idioms with him, Stiles! He barely understands **formal** English. What’s wrong with you?”

Scott whistled. “Wow. No colloquialisms or idioms? That pretty much eliminates, like, what? 80% of your vocabulary?”

“I didn’t know he couldn’t speak English!” Stiles sputtered. “And don’t you limit my lexicon, Scott. It’s more like 60% idiomatic language and 40% pop culture references.”

Allison turned to Derek and explained what Stiles had actually meant by his comments in class.  Derek laughed heartily.

“Je n'avais aucune idée de ce dont il parlait, mais c'était très gentil de sa part pour essayer de me souhaiter la bienvenue à ‘Ogwarts.”

Allison nodded and then turned to Stiles. “He says that he had no idea what you were trying to say at the time, but that it was very kind of you to try to welcome him to ‘Ogwarts.”

“Thank God,” Stiles exhaled. “This whole time I thought he _hated_ me.”

Derek glanced at Allison. “Quoi?”

“Il dit qu'il pensait que tu le détestais.”

“ALLISON!”

“Sorry! But it’s not fair if I don’t do it both ways!”

Derek blushed slightly once Allison’s translation sunk in. He shook his head gently and then touched Allison’s hand. “Je suis tellement désolé pour la confusion. S'il vous plaît pardonnez mon impolitesse.”

Allison nodded. She turned back Stiles. “He says that he’s sorry for the confusion. And he asks that you forgive his rudeness.”

Derek looked up at Stiles expectantly.

Stiles’ was shocked by the boy's sweetness. His mouth began jawing before any actual speech could come out. He nodded his head enthusiastically as he tried to remember how to form words with his tongue. “Oh! Sure! That's fine. Um I mean…Oui! Oui! Uh, oh geez this is hard. Allison? Tell him no worries. It’s all good!”

Allison grinned. “Mon ami accepte vos excuses. Il dit que ce n'est pas un problème.”

Derek looked up at Stiles and nodded. “Merci.”

“He says-“

“I think we **all** understood that one, Allison.” Jackson interrupted.

Derek stole a quick glance at Stiles before he turned to address Allison again.

“Votre ami est _très_ charmant.”

“Oui,” Allison replied. “Il peut être charmant, quand il met son esprit à lui!”

Derek slapped his hand across his knee. They both started to laugh (which completely unnerved Stiles).

“Why are they laughing?” Stiles demanded. He turned to his other friends. “They’re laughing at me, aren’t they?

“That’s a safe enough bet,” Jackson chuckled.

Lydia ignored Stiles and clapped her hands together in delight. “Allison, tell Derek that he is officially our new best friend and he need not fret anymore because I have a plan.”

Lydia cleared her throat before she continued.

“Tonight, we’ll all sneak off campus and pay a visit to Dervish and Banges. Hopefully, they’ll be able to repair the Linguadiograph in a jiffy. In the meantime, I’ll ask Professor Flitwick if there’s a language charm Derek can use while we wait for them to fix it.”

“Sneak off campus? To go to Hogsmeade?” Scott asked, a hint of a tremble in his voice.

“Yes,” Lydia answered fearlessly. “And then, after we visit D&B, the six of us are heading down to the Three Broomsticks where we will all enjoy a round of Butterbeers, on me, in honor of our very special guest from France, Derek!”

“Lydia! Let Allison ask him if he’s okay with all that first,” Stiles interjected nervously. “Maybe he’s tired from traveling or he has to study…or maybe he doesn’t feel doing something that might get him _expelled_ his very first week here!”

Allison translated the steps of their illicit plan to Derek. Derek started to laugh again. He grinned at Stiles before addressing the entire group.

“Oui, bien sûr. J'aimerais sortir avec vos amis! Pourquoi devrais-je pas être sauvage et frivole avec vous? Nous ne sommes pas Puritains en France!”

Allison snickered until she began to howl with laughter. Nobody else said or did anything because they weren’t sure if Derek’s expression had been a definite yes or no.

“ _Well?_ ” Jackson finally asked. “What did he say?!”

Allison stopped laughing so she could compose herself. “He, um, he said: _“Yes, of course! I would love to go out with your friends! Why should I not be wild and frivolous with you? We are not Puritans in France!”_

Everyone stared at Allison with stony, impassive faces.

Allison bit her lip. “Um, I guess it’s just funnier in French? Maybe some of the humor gets lost in translation?”

“Some or _all_?” Jackson retorted.

“Either way. We’re all in agreement.” Lydia beamed, trying to play peacemaker. “Everyone’s on board and nobody’s a Puritan!” She checked her watch. “Jackson and I have to get to class. Stiles? Why don’t _you_ stay with Derek so that he has someone to help him find his way until we get back?”

Stiles squinted. “Well, shouldn’t Allison stay? I mean, she’s the interpreter after all.”

 “Oh! I would love to stay,” Allison faltered. “It’s just that I…uh….I…”

“You said that you have to study!” Lydia interrupted. “I mean, I remember that you told me earlier that you have to help _Scott_ study. Right, Scott?”

Scott scratched his head. “Uh, no. I don’t think so.” He laughed. “It’s the first day of cla-“

Allison coughed to grab Scott’s attention. Once he glanced at her she began to bat her eyes furiously, as if she were trying to summon a hurricane. Thankfully, Scott finally picked up on the signal.

“Oh. Oh yeaaaah,” Scott nodded, audibly changing his tune. “Darn it! I have a quiz tomorrow in…a class.” He looked to Allison for assurance. “A class that only Allison and I are taking this semester?”

 “Wait a minute,” Stiles frowned. “What class are you two taking that _I’m_ not taking?”

Jackson bellowed in frustration. “Introduction to **How to Take a Freaking HINT**?”

“ _Jackson_!” Lydia and Allison fumed in unison.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see why you guys are dancing around this.” Jackson gestured to Derek. “ _That_ guy can’t understand English and Stiles can’t understand subtlety.”

Jackson moved toward Stiles. He grabbed him by the shoulders. “Dude, the girls are trying to find an excuse to leave you alone with little boy blue so that you two can get your flirt on. Just TAKE it already so that we’re not late for Charms class, okay?”

Stiles jerked away from Jackson’s touch. “Do you people seriously think that I can’t manage my own love life? That I can’t get a guy to stick around without the four of you orchestrating these elaborate, _synthetic_ romantic opportunities?”

The gang avoided eye contact with Stiles. Nearly everyone looked down at the ground. Scott looked skyward instead, slightly off to the left. Derek had no idea what was going on, so he just looked down too, wondering why the ground was suddenly so fascinating to everyone.

Stiles covered his face with his hands. “Okay, that wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.”

 “We just want you to be happy, man.” Scott said gently.

Allison rose from her seat and touched Stiles’ shoulder. “Stiles, I really think he likes you.” She lowered her voice. “ _He said you were charming!”_

“What? Really?” Stiles paused for a moment. His internal voices of lust, self-disgust, and courage waged their quiet war for a minute longer. Finally, the victor was declared and Stiles relented. “Okay. Fine. I’ll do it.”

Lydia let out a small cheer. She patted Jackson on the back so that they could start making their way to class. Allison sat back down on the bench so that she could explain the new developments to Derek.

Stiles turned to Scott, his first and greatest confidant. “I can’t believe he thinks I’m charming. But wait…what am I supposed to do with him? He’s not going to understand a single word that I’m saying!”

“Just be yourself, man.” Scott said simply. “I mean, that’s how you charmed him in the first place, right?”

Stiles nodded. “That actually makes a lot of sense. You know, you’re very wise when you want to be?”

Scott shrugged. “It’s a gift.” The two traded a few light bro-punches until Allison turned to them.

“If you’re looking for an activity, you should definitely take him to the dining hall. He got lost this morning before breakfast was served so he hasn’t eaten at thing since last night’s welcome feast!”

Stiles’ eyes went wide with concern. He ran over to Derek and grabbed his arm. “Oh my God! Dude, c’mon! Let’s go grab you some grub! Um, grub?” Stiles gestured to his mouth. “You know? Grub? Croissant?! Éclair?! Baguette?!”

Derek was slightly perplexed by the furious litany of baked goods, but in spite of his uncertainty, he followed Stiles' direction and rose from his seat. As Stiles dragged him away toward the dining hall, his facial expression looked torn between bubbling excitement and utter confusion.

Allison and Scott watched their figures fade into the distance. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” Allison asked as she began to lean into Scott’s embrace.

“Oh yeah,” Scott answered. “I mean, the house elves should still be serving lunch, right?”

Allison sighed. “I meant do you think that _Stiles_ will be alright dealing with Derek. You know? All by himself?”

Scott nodded. “Stiles is pretty unflappable. He grew a lot after all that drama with Danny. Honestly, I can’t think of much that would faze him.”

“I guess you’re right,” Allison said as she deepened their hug. “If a language barrier is the worst impediment they have to a potential relationship, it should be pretty smooth sailing from here on out, right?”

“Right,” Scott affirmed. “Now, how do you want to waste this period? Studying? Or maybe…you know?” Scott waggled his eyebrows at Allison.

Allison kissed his cheek and then quickly disengaged the hug.

“Studying. We’re definitely studying,” she replied. “And not just for my sake, Mr. _I-thought-Conjunctivitis-was-an-unforgiveable-curse_.”

Scott groaned his disapproval. He reluctantly followed Allison as she tugged on his hand and led the way to the library.


	2. Stiles Stilinski and the Luncheon of Awkwardness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Umbridge makes her grand entrance (and manages to stir up some trouble in the process). Meanwhile, Derek and Stiles break bread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I want to thank everyone who waited so patiently for an update to this fic. I had not expected for the story to garner any attention at all when I first posted it, so once I realized some peeps were actually following along and bookmarking it, I decided that I really wanted put forth some effort and try to do the story justice. Unfortunately, I grossly underestimated the amount of time it would take for me to do so satisfactorily. I know the wait was lengthy, but I hope the end result is much more enjoyable because of it. 
> 
> I will admit, right off the bat, that this chapter marks a turn for the fic. I still have some fluffy / romantic moments planned, but things are going to get a lot more plot-heavy and dark-sided from here on out. Not *too* dark, not yet at least, but stuff is going down. *See the cliffhanger at the end*
> 
> I’m currently juggling a lot of writing projects / work stuff, so the next update probably won’t happen any sooner than this one. I will do my best though, so if you stick with me, I’ll try to do right by you and tell a story worth telling. 
> 
> Many thanks to all the lovely peeps who showed interest in the fic / posted comments on chapter one! As before, I must admit that I am not a Potter savant. I am also doing all my own proofing / Beta-ing, so if you spot something that you feel needs correcting, please don't hesitate to let me know (in a nice way, please). I have a Tumblr, if you are so inclined to use that as a mean of communication instead: http://questionableliterarymerit.tumblr.com/

Dumbledore surveyed the busy courtyard with quiet satisfaction.

He saw a handful of students casting spells by the entrance way. Near the right, several older boys rushed off with their Quidditch brooms in tow, gearing up for practice. A bevy of young ladies passed by him and waved happily at the headmaster, their scarves flapping in the breeze.

The first day of school was always the hardest for the first years but, truthfully, it could be an ordeal for the seasoned faculty and staff as well. The day had unfolded mostly without a hitch, as far as Dumbledore knew, but there were still some unresolved issues that weighed heavily on the back of his mind.

Suddenly, he saw her figure gliding across to him.

She was hurried, but composed. Ever the picture of strength no matter how dire the circumstance.

“Minerva?” Dumbledore whispered as he looked up from his spot, a bloom of hopefulness flowering in his voice.

McGonagall shook her head sadly. She reached out her hands to take his into her palms, squeezing them for a second before letting them go. “I’m so sorry Albus, but they still haven’t found him.”

Nearly three weeks had passed, and Professor Lupin was stil missing.

Initially, the staff thought that his absence from the faculty meeting was just the result of a sudden illness or a pressing family matter. Once a full week had passed without word from him, panic began to set it among those closest to Lupin.

Dumbledore immediately sent out owls to his most powerful allies, hoping that they would be willing to serve in the search for the missing professor. Because of the sensitive nature of Remus’ condition, the authorities could not be involved for fear that they might act brashly in trying to apprehend him. Remus had broken no laws, but wizarding world officials were rarely gentle-handed when it came to missing werewolves. Their tendency was to hex first and ask questions later.

The matter was especially troublesome, due to the recent, controversial reorganization of the Ministry of Magic’s Department For the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Rumors were spreading that legislative changes couldn’t be far behind, especially concerning the categorization of werewolves and their ambiguous simultaneous labeling as both “beast” _and_ “being.”

The sociopolitical landscape regarding lycanthropy had shifted drastically in the wizarding world, more so in the last three years than perhaps the last three centuries. Dumbledore felt that all the fuss was surely building up to something. That it was all coming to a head. But to what end, he could not say.

“I’ve contacted everyone on your list for updates, but no one has anything to report. Sirius is out of his mind with worry-” McGonagall halted her speech suddenly. She paused and strained her ears.

“Do you hear…footsteps?”She asked.

Indeed, there was a clacking sound echoing throughout the corridor, something like angry coconut shells clomping against a cobblestone pathway. Dumbledore narrowed his eyes as distant figures began to emerge from the entranceway down the hall. Even before the foremost shape became recognizable, the abrasive shade of pink was a dead giveaway.

“ _Headmaster_!” Dolores Umbridge sang out. “You make it so very _hard_ to get a hold of you. Oh. Oh, dear. You seem to be preoccupied. I trust that we are not interrupting anything important?”

Dolores stood up straight. Her words were courteous, but her tone and body language demanded compliance. She was flanked by two Hogwarts parents. Antoinette Carrow glowered on her left side and Frederic Dolohov frowned on her right. Frederic had his arms crossed in a disapproving posture while Antoinette had her face set on ‘permanent sneer.’

“A visit from a Ministry official!” Dumbledore chuckled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Dolores was thrown off by the cavalier reply. She puffed herself up in response. “I am the newly appointed representative of H.E.R.A., the **H** ostile **E** ntity **R** egulation **A** gency; a specialized subdivision of the RCMC Department. I have been asked to discuss a matter of grave importance with you, Headmaster.”

“And what cause do you champion today, Dolores?”

Dolores bristled. “I champion the safety of your school. The safety of _all_ wizarding schools in the United Kingdom. As do these concerned parents.” Dolores opened her arms wide as she simultaneously gestured to the displeased figures at her sides. “We _demand_ to be seen at once.”

Dumbledore regarded Antoinette and Frederic with an appraising look. “Mrs. Carrow,” he said with a nod. “Mr. Dolohov. It’s a pleasure to see you both.”

Frederic grunted his acknowledgement. Antoinette whispered her disingenuous reply so softly, it might as well not have even been uttered at all. She also took the time to flash McGonagall a simpering smile for appearances’ sake.

McGonagall, who cared nothing for appearance, stared back at her absolutely stone-faced.

 “Why don’t we all head back to my office where, hopefully, I can assuage whatever worries the three of you have regarding the safety of this institution?”

With this invitation, Dumbledore led the way and all five individuals began the trek back to his office.

***

Once Derek and Stiles reached the dining hall they were disappointed to discover that the staff had stopped service. An inquiry made to a cantankerous elf revealed that they had no intention of resuming food distribution for another two hours, only once the evening meal was set to commence. After some searching, Stiles and Derek finally ran into a much more helpful elf named Dobby.

Dobby had accompanied Stiles on several humorous misadventures during his second year at Hogwarts. Those trials had so bonded Dobby to Stiles that the agreeable elf would say or do practically _anything_ for the benefit of his human acquaintance. He even insisted on referring to him as “Master Stiles,” in spite of Stiles’ adamant protestations against the lofty title. When Stiles politely pleaded for his assistance that afternoon, Dobby was only too happy to oblige him by smuggling out some contraband goodies from the kitchen.

“Would Master Stiles like anything else?” Dobby asked as he ceremoniously set a covered silver platter onto the dining hall table. He lifted the shiny dome to reveal a glorious array of sandwiches: Salami, roast beef, turkey, ham, chicken salad, tuna salad, chip butties, BLT’s, and even a few good ol’ reliable peanut butter and jellies thrown into the mix for good measure.

“No way, Sir Dobby,” Stiles replied with a grin as he saw Derek’s mouth begin to water. “This is already a copious bounty of fantastic foodstuffs. Thank you so much for helping us out.”

Dobby beamed. “Master Stiles is always so nice to Dobby.”

Dobby looked over to Derek and tugged on the sleeve of his robe. Derek snapped out of his food-trance long enough to regard the tiny elf. Once Dobby was sure he had Derek’s full attention, he proceeded to shamelessly talk up Stiles’ _every_ glowing attribute.

“Master Stiles is the kindest, smartest, friendliest human at Hogwarts, Master Derek! Any person in his right mind would count himself fortunate, quite fortunate indeed, to win Master Stiles’ companionship…”

“Dobby,” Stiles interrupted wearily. “Derek doesn’t understand what you’re saying. He’s a foreign exchange student from the Beauxbatons Academy in France. He doesn’t speak English.”

“Ohhhhhh,” Dobby wailed with a somber droop of his ears. The little elf rubbed his forehead and pondered the problem for a second. Suddenly, a flash of insight dawned on him. He smiled and turned to address Derek once more.

“Maître Stiles est la _plus_ gentille, la _plus_ intelligente, humaine amical à Hogwarts, Maître Derek! Toute personne dans son bon sens aurait de la chance de gagner compa ... "

“DOBBY!” Stiles shouted as he felt a hot blush begin to radiate behind his cheeks. Dobby winced in response. Derek covered his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing, but a glimmer of his smile could still be seen peeking through his fingers.

“Thanks, dude. Thanks. That’s, uh, super-helpful, but you really don’t need to go on like that. _Really_.”

“Of course, Master Stiles! Dobby will take his leave then,” Dobby said with a wave, a bow, and a conspicuous wink. Stiles rolled his eyes but smirked as Dobby gave him a quick “thumbs up” in the distance before he disappeared back into the kitchens.

“Figures Dobby speaks French,” Stiles muttered as he nudged the tray closer to Derek. “It’s like _everyone_ at this school is better equipped to interact with you than I am.”

Derek’s eyes had been fixed on the tray of goodies. At the sound of his new friend’s voice, he returned his gaze to Stiles but temporarily forgot their predicament. He began to speak to Stiles in fast, unfettered French.

“Je suis sûr que vos amis ne voulaient aucun mal. S'il parle bien de vous, je suis sûr que c'est pour une bonne rai-”

He stopped suddenly when he noticed the blank expression on Stiles’ face.

Derek sighed and narrowed his eyes in genuine concern. “Je m'excuse. J'ai oublié...”

“No! No! It’s okay,” Stiles said as he waved off the apology. He didn’t know precisely what Derek had said, but the body language certainly _looked_ apologetic. “Um… _ami_ is a friend, right? Like Amiable or Amity?”

Derek nodded. “Oui.”

“ _Vous_ is you… _mal_ is bad… _bon_ is good…”

Derek continued nodding, faster now. With more enthusiasm.

Stiles’ face hourglassed as he sifted through his memory. He finally huffed in defeat once he realized that he could find no other helpful root words or cognates to assist him. He held his hands up in mock surrender.

“That’s all I’ve got, dude. Sorry. I can’t believe that masterful linguistic breakdown was so unhelpful. Hopefully Lydia will come through with that language charm, assuming one even exists of course.”

Derek bit his lip as he tried to parse through Stiles’ confusing comment. He shrugged his shoulders, unsure of what reaction he should have to his conclusion. He moved his hand to take a sandwich from the tray, but before he could bring it to his lips, he paused. He offered it to Stiles with a curious tilt of his head.

“N'êtes-vous pas faim aussi?” He asked.

Stiles was thrown by the gesture. “ _Damn_.” Stiles thought. “ _Talk about manners_.”

Stiles shook his head emphatically and pushed the tray closer to Derek.

“No no,” he insisted. “You go ahead and eat. I already had lunch. And then, after lunch, I had two chocolate frogs between classes. Two chocolate frogs and fistful of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor beans if we’re being honest with each other. Trust me _,_ I’m totally stuffed right now. I’m, like, one sugary snack away from needing an insulin shot.”

Stiles had intended for his hoggish rant to clarify matters, but it backfired. Derek frowned at his friend. Having to untangle Stiles’ lengthy, gastrological elaboration only created _more_ confusion for the Frenchman. Thankfully, Stiles caught on this time.

To emphasize his fullness, Stiles puffed out his cheeks with air and then patted his stomach. Derek’s eyes brightened with recognition at this gesture. He nodded happily to express his understanding before diving into the tray of food with reckless abandon. He practically salivated as he started stacking individual sandwiches on top of each other, creating sets of multiples Stiles was not even sure how to mathematically delineate.

“What would you even call that?” Stiles mused aloud as he pointed to Derek's sandwich.  “A hextuple decker? Or would it just be two triple deckers smashed together?”

If Derek heard (much less understood) the question, Stiles couldn’t tell because his head was lowered and his shoulders were slumped over as he began to wolf down the food. Stiles grimaced as he imagined the unholy combination of mayonnaise, peanut butter, tuna, and pickle that might be mingling together on Derek’s palate. His face soured as he reached over for his book bag.

“It’s always weird eating in front of a non-eater. I imagine it’s worse when the non-eater can’t even tell you a story or effectively flirt with you in between bites,” Stiles remarked as he sifted through his bag for a quill and piece of parchment. “So…to pass the time I’m going to try to finish my Arithmacy homework while I ogle you out of the corner of my eye. Less pressure for the both of us that way, huh?”

When Stiles glanced up to look at Derek, he noticed that he was no longer feasting. Instead, the darkly handsome boy was staring at him. His eyes were narrowed. His forehead was wrinkled. There was a stray spot of mustard on the edge of his lips.

“Whoa.” Stiles shivered. “Sorry. Didn’t expect to see you…there. Like…that. What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my shirt?”

Stiles twisted around in his seat as he glanced over his wardrobe. He found no offending debris. When he looked back up, he realized that Derek was still fixated on him, still watching him closely with that predatory glint in his eyes.   

Then, (and Stiles would later wonder if perhaps he only imagined it) while he continued to hold eye contact with Stiles, Derek sniffed the air. He sniffed it once more before he emitted a low, guttural utterance that sounded like the rumbling echo of distant thunder.

Stiles blinked. He squinted skeptically as he tilted his head to the side.

“Did you…Did you just _growl_ at me?”

Derek’s eyes glazed over for a second. He blinked three times and then wiped the corner of his mouth with his hand before glancing downward, completely embarrassed by what had transpired between them. He refused to turn his head up again to make eye contact, so Stiles was left to stare at him for an awkward amount of time while he considered how best to proceed.

Stiles was _dying_ to pry, but Derek looked far too distraught for him to give the notion serious consideration. Besides, it wouldn’t be very polite, or even feasible for that matter, since the interrogation would have to take place using charades and hand gestures. Stiles stifled the few theories that rose to the surface of his mind once he saw the shimmer of tears beginning to form at the edges of Derek’s eyes.

Derek sniffed hard to suppress the urge to cry and rubbed his hands together, making sure to keep his gaze downward. He seemed to be frozen in place, just like before in the courtyard when he had no idea how to answer the girls’ questions. Stiles couldn’t bear the thought of Derek withdrawing into himself again, but he had no idea what to say to ease his anxiety.

Stiles glanced thoughtfully at the tray of food. He turned to Derek and smiled.

“You know, I take back what I said about the chocolate frogs. I think I feel a second wind coming on.”

Stiles quickly grabbed a few random sandwiches and cobbled together a rustic version of the disgusting Hextuple decker that Derek had made earlier. He nearly had to unhinge his jaw to do it, but he finally managed to take one large, deliberately messy bite before the sloppy sandwich practically imploded in his hands. Derek’s curiosity got the better of him. He looked up from the floor.

“S’good,” Stiles managed to mumble, his cheeks poking out like a greedy chipmunk. “I like your style. The peanut butter and jelly really help balance out all those salty meats. Unorthodox…but tasty!” Stiles swallowed and finished his critique with a vigorous nod and a jubilant licking of his forefingers.

Derek’s expression lightened at the sight. There was Stiles, grinning like a fool, with a smear of raspberry jam on chin. His eyes were open and face welcoming. In any language, the meaning was clear.

With this bit of encouragement, Derek took up his own sandwich once more. Stiles leaned across the table and pretended to *clink* his sandwich against Derek’s as if they were toasting with champagne glasses. He even added the necessary sound effect.  

“Bon appétit!” Stiles said in his very best Julia Child impersonation.

Derek chuckled at the entire production.“Oui, oui. Bon appetit.”

He tapped his sandwich against Stiles’ in response and even offered up his own interpretation of the *clinking* sound effect Stiles had made earlier. Stiles beamed at this reciprocation. He wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“You better appreciate all this,” he grinned. “Because that was, like, the _only_ French expression I know. Well, I mean, unless you count the lyrics to ‘Lady Marmalade’ or ‘Frere Jacques.’ But even then, I have no idea what I’m saying. I’m not as bad as Scott though. If Scott were here, he’d probably ask you about French Toast, like whether or not they have a French name for the dish or if you just call it the French word for ‘toast’. I can’t say that I’m much better though. To be honest I’ve wondered the same thing about Belgian Waffles. Oh sure, it’s probably easy enough to Google the answer but I’m lazy by nature. Lazi-ER ever since I discovered that I was a wizard. I mean, seriously, how great is the Accio spell? I don’t like to admit it, but I’ve used it for some pretty frivolous purposes in the past. One time I couldn’t find a missing sock and I just didn’t feel like getting up so I…”

Slowly but surely, as Stiles continued his rant, moving from one silly subject to another, Derek started to take cautious nibbles of his sandwich. Stiles noticed this and promptly scooted his Arithmacy homework off to the side as he made room for more elaborate hand gestures to accompany his verbose raving.

Stiles had anticipated that Derek would be put off by his restless rambling or else that he would become frustrated at not being fully understood by his French companion. Instead, he was surprised to find that this odd interaction was a great comfort to the both of them. Somehow, in spite of the language barrier in place, Derek was still amused by Stiles. And somehow, in way he could not fully elucidate, Stiles still felt understood.

In his eagerness to put Derek at ease, Stiles forgot all about his staring and that strange growling business. There would be time enough to ask about those things later. In the meantime, he was content simply to entertain Derek and watch his shoulders rise and fall with the happy fits of laughter.

***

“Now, Dolores,” Dumbledore began as he took his seat. “You say that you represent the…what was that charming acronym you used earlier?”

“The _Hostile_ Entity _Regulation_ Agency, Headmaster.” Dolores said curtly as she settled into the chair directly in front of Dumbledore. Antoinette found a chair next to her. Frederic decided to stand as a show of power. McGonagall remained by Dumbledore’s side, standing as well.

Dumbledore sighed. “Should we begin by discerning which entities under my supervision you would deem ‘hostile’?”

“Well, let’s start with the fact that your Defense against the Dark Arts teacher is a registered _werewolf_ ,” Dolores tittered. “A detail which you failed to communicate to the parents of your student body.”

At this point, Frederic perked up. His coarse, dark beard jutted forwards as his head snapped upright. He shook his fist in angry affirmation before he pointed an accusing finger at Dumbledore.

“That’s absolutely true! When Ms. Umbridge informed us of the matter, I was positively outraged. As the headmaster of this institution, you have the responsibility of disclosing any potential danger to us so that we can decide whether or not we want our children taught by- by _those_ kinds of people.”

“Because Professor Lupin is a registered werewolf,” Dumbledore began calmly. “It is not necessary for us to broadcast his personal business to our community. If he had been considered a threat, the ministry would never have certified him as being capable of work. That _is_ the whole point of the labor competency portion of the werewolf registration policy, isn’t it Dolores?”

Dolores’ smile didn’t dampen in spite of the scored point.

“Quite right, Headmaster. Quite right indeed.”

McGonagall couldn’t help but chime in.

“In the past, Professor Lupin has _gladly_ answered questions about his personal life when approached by concerned parents, even though he is under no legal obligation to do so. One must only have the courage and _courtesy_ to ask him about his condition directly.”

“Pardon me, Professor?” Dolores said with a sweet tilt of her head. “We did try to locate Professor Lupin earlier to speak to him about the matter, _directly_ , of course, but we were informed by your staff that he is, uh…indisposed at the moment?”

Dumbledore pokerfaced. “Professor Lupin is currently…unavailable. We have sent for a new teacher to take his place until he can resume his duties. That person should be arriving shortly.”

“So, you haven’t had _any_ communication with him then? None at all?”

Dumbledore’s eyes dimmed slightly. “No. Not at this time.”

“Missing then? Oh my! How queer. And worse than that- how _unreliable_. Are these really the traits that you prize in your faculty, Headmaster?”

 “Professor Lupin has always been a consistent, contributing member of this institution. Because he is registered with the ministry, I see no need to comment any further on his case or defend his inviolable character. Dare I ask if you perceive there to be any _other_ hostiles within my school, Dolores?”

“As a matter of fact, I have it on good authority that you have allowed several lycanthropic students to enroll at Hogwarts this semester. When we asked your staff for names or exact numbers, we were turned away. Why, your roster could be _crawling_ with unregistered werewolves. The Minister has made it clear that all magical institutions must submit the names of known werewolves for statistical analysis and follow-up.”   

“That law pertains to adults _only_ ,” Dumbledore said, his ire beginning to spark. “Bitten children or minors who are born with the condition are exempted in order to protect their privacy.”

“Privacy!? _Privacy_?!” Dolores shouted before she bubbled over with incredulous laughter. “Why, unregistered lycanthropic children pose the _greatest_ risk, both to themselves and to our communities! They are the ones who are the most ignorant and most careless about their condition.”

Frederic frowned. He shook his head sadly. “You would have me risk my son’s life for the sake of another student’s privacy, Dumbledore? For the sake of _discretion_?”

 Dumbledore sighed. “Those students pose no danger to their classmates. Individuals who express their condition to us are assisted in learning how to manage it, but their names are _classified_.  And I have every legal right to refuse should you ask me for names or numbers.”

“Legal right?” Antoinette scoffed from her corner, a wry smile curling on her lips as she tightened her grip on her handkerchief. “What about moral responsibility? What about the peace of mind that you owe us, aye? The parents who are paying to educate their children alongside these mangy whelps? Are we to sit on our hands, arguing over the merits of privacy, until it is too late?”

Antoinette raised her handkerchief to dab her sweaty forehead. Her hands vibrated with so much rage that she had to abandon the gesture. She lowered her trembling fists into her lap and inhaled deeply.

“So we wait then. Is that your grand plan, Headmaster? We wait until the day my husband or Frederic’s wife receives a post from your staff informing us that our children have- have been torn to shreds _by_ _this_ …this clandestine, mongrel HORDE!?”

Silence.

Antoinette’s frantic, hate-filled speech lingered thick in the air like hot rot. The only sound that could be heard was her fuming in the aftermath of the outburst, nostrils flaring and chest heaving as she struggled to compose herself. 

Dolores stiffened a bit as she considered how to move the conversation into a more tactful direction.

“Yes. Yes, Mrs. Carrow is right to be so indignant. We simply cannot stand by with idle hands while we wait for calamity to befall us. We must do something about it. _Now_.”

Dumbledore and McGonagall stared forward, their expressions unchanging.

Dolores summoned a tired smile. “Headmaster, please understand that our organization is _anything_ but prejudicial. We greatly sympathize with the individuals who suffer from this, uh- affliction. We only wish to identify them so that they can receive proper treatment and avoid hurting their peers.”

 “You wish to identify them so that you can isolate them, terrify them, exploit them, and then, eventually, expel them, not just from my school, but from the entire wizarding community. How did it use to go, Dolores?” Dumbledore asked as he rose from his seat. “First the werewolves and then the mudbloods?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That was _ages_ ago, back during the Inquisition! We don’t engage in such barbarous practices today-”

“No. But you’d like to, wouldn’t you?”

Dolores was stunned into silence by the accusation.

Dumbledore took the respite as an opportunity to interject.

“Being headmaster,” he began slowly. “I am privy to many secrets in my private conferences with students. Some have disclosed the most intimate of stories to me; stories containing secrets for which they are fear exposure and subsequent ostracism.”

“A purportedly pureblooded family whose reputation would be ruined if anyone found out about their muggle relations, for example.” Dumbledore mused as he gestured vaguely to the right side of the room where Frederic was standing, mouth agape.  

“Or grandparents who were thrown into Azkaban for practicing the Dark Arts,” Dumbledore added, his gaze shifting towards Antoinette’s squirming figure as he tilted his head to the left side of the room.

“Now,” He began as he pointed to Dolores. “Imagine if some Ministry official came marching through my doors and demanded, without any jurisdiction, that I give her your children’s secrets.”

Frederic looked down at the floor. Antoinette’s lip quivered.

“What a disgrace that would be,” Dumbledore continued. “How shameful! How cruel! So I ask you: What right have any of _you_ to make such a demand of me? To ask me to betray a student’s confidence?”

“It’s hardly a betrayal of confidence,” Dolores chortled as she desperately tried to make eye contact with Antoinette and Frederic, silently begging the two parents to bolster her side of the argument once more.

Dumbledore shook his head. “The registration of werewolf children has proven to be _extremely_ harmful to their fragile psyches. The end result of that invasive process, that intense scrutiny and painful stigmatization at such a young age, is the erosion of their humanity. And the product of that erosion can be seen filling the cells of our prisons with the likes of Fenrir Greyback and his dire ilk: Werewolves who no longer even _remember_ what it was like to be human. Is that what you all want then?!”

Antoinette looked like she was ready to burst into tears.

Frederic was struggling to look stoic.

Dolores shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

McGonagall subdued the smile that threatened to overtake her face.

“I didn’t think so.” Dumbledore nodded. He sat down and clapped his hand softly against his desk as if he had adjourned a courtroom proceeding with a gavel. “I believe that we have finished here for today, yes?”

Antoinette leapt from her seat as if a starting gun had gone off. She lumbered as fast as she could to the doorway, almost limping like a wounded animal. Frederic wasn’t far behind her. He didn’t bother to say goodbye either, although he did mumble some choice expletives on his way out.

Dolores remained seated, ever facing forward while her compatriots deserted her. Once they were gone, she began slow-clapping her hands together, lightly, granting Dumbledore a modest round of applause.

“Well done, Headmaster.” Dolores chirped as she rose from her seat and smoothed out the contours of her dress. She sharply inhaled as she adjusted her pale, pink pillbox hat.

“My hat’s off to you for this round. But please don’t think this is the last you will see of me. I may not yet have the power to excise undesireables from this depressing little alcove of aberrations you deign to call a school, but one day, I will.”

Dolores began to move toward the door. She paused midway. “You know dears, I’ve always admired the efficiency of the wizarding education system. Working for the government can be so very tedious. You need _time_ to institute any real, substantive change because of all the bureaucratic claptrap mucking up policy with process…”

She licked her lips.

“But then again, all it takes is one event to cut through centuries of red tape. A single, noble tragedy to hasten a bold, new design.”

Dolores marched to the door. She opened it wide for her exit, turning around one last time to face Dumbledore.

“If I were you, headmaster, I would keep a watchful eye on my students. Progress always comes, but so often at the cost of those who are no longer around to see it flourish.”

With that, Dolores gave a delicate wave of her hand, and then shut the door behind her so hard that the boom echoed across the campus.

***

Derek tilted his head. Stiles squinted.

They had both heard the boom in the distance.

“Tonnerre?” Derek asked.

“Maybe there’s a storm a-coming?” Stiles suggested as he twiddled his fingers to signify rain and gurgled with the back of his throat to evoke the sound of thunder. Derek smirked and nodded.

In between anecdotes and charades, Stiles caught himself drinking in Derek’s details. The contours of his face. The expressiveness of his brow. As his eyes traveled downward, he noticed a piece of jewelry that hung around Derek’s neck. It was a dark leather cord that stood out against the soft pastels of his uniform. Whatever hung at the end of it was tucked away behind Derek’s dress shirt.

“What’s that?” Stiles asked as he gestured to his own collar before pointing at Derek’s.

Derek placed his right hand over his neck. He rubbed the black cord between his fingers and screwed his lips together, struggling with some internal dilemma. Finally, he grinned and pulled the cord out from behind his shirt. He bowed his head slightly and slipped the cord off his neck. He cupped it in the palm of his hand and presented it to Stiles as if it were a shy woodland creature that might take flight at the gentlest provocation.

“Un cadeau de ma soeur avant de mourir. Il s'agit d'un triskelion,” he said.

Stiles wasn’t sure what Derek had said so he leaned over to get a closer look, hoping that observation might help him fill in the blanks. At the end of the black cord there was a shimmering pendant composed of three separate silver spirals that emerged from a common center. Taken all together, the spirals formed an abstract triangle shape.

“Voyez-vous les trois spirales?” Derek asked as he pointed to each of the individual spirals.

“Spirales? Oh, yeah…spirals.” Stiles nodded. “I get it.”

Stiles stared at the pendant for a moment, utterly mesmerized by it.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered thoughtlessly. “Oh. Uh, belle? It’s very, um… _belle_.”

“Oui,” Derek nodded, his smile lighting up the room. He did not take his eyes off Stiles for a second. He just kept nodding softly. “Très belle.”

Stiles gulped.

Suddenly, Derek’s eyes shifted off to glance behind Stiles. He pressed his lips together, dimming his smile in the process. He looked down a bit, almost as if he was embarrassed, pulled the pendant away, and carefully hung it back around his neck.

“What?” Stiles asked, surprised by the change in energy. “What did I do?”

Derek motioned behind him with his eyebrows. He grinned sheepishly.

Stiles turned around and saw his four friends standing in a row, watching on in shameless wonderment. “ _They might as well have brought popcorn and Twizzlers_ ,” Stiles thought to himself.

 “Okay. How long have you guys been standing there?”

 “Long enough,” Lydia smirked.

“Not _very_ long,” Allison backpedaled, her wary eyes betraying the veracity of her claim.

 “Kind of long. But, like, on the _shorter_ end of long?” Scott ventured.

“Too long,” Jackson said flatly.

Lydia stepped forward and sat at the table next to Stiles. Allison took a seat next to Derek.

“So there’s some good news and some bad news,” Lydia began, nodding over to Allison so that she could begin translating the same information over to Derek.

Stiles gritted his teeth. “What’s the bad news?”

“There’s no charm that can replicate the exact effect of a linguadiograph.”

“Crap. That’s disappointing. What’s the good news?”

“There _is_ a charm that can help him understand what we’re saying. That’ll at least save Allison some breath until his device gets fixed, which will hopefully only take a couple of days once we get it over to Dervish and Banges. Speaking of which, I reconsidered our options and figured that it might be better for us to leave campus in the afternoon, as soon as I finish the charm. That way we can get back to school before lights out.”

“Not feeling up to breaking curfew?”

Lydia shook her head. “Normally I wouldn’t mind being scandalous, but it’s the first week back and homework is already piling up for me and Jackson. I assume for the rest of you too.”

Stiles nodded. Thanks to his late luncheon with Derek, his Arithmacy homework was still firmly in the “to-do” pile. He had to remind himself to ask Lydia for help sometime tomorrow before class.

“Plus, Derek’s new and is still getting acclimated,” Lydia added. “I figure we should probably ease him into the mischief slowly.”

“That seems wise,” Stiles agreed. “Okay! So what do you need us to do for the charm to work?”

Lydia cracked her knuckles. “Just stand back and don’t say anything. I need to concentrate.”

“Why?” Stiles asked.”

“Because I’ve never done this spell before, and if I don’t do it right, his ears might transform into giant tongues,” Lydia replied curtly. She waved Stiles away from the bench so that she would have enough room to craft her spell.

“Gotcha. Shutting up now.”

Stiles started to get up from the table. He noticed that Allison was talking a mile a minute, trying to communicate everything they already covered to Derek. Finally, Allison gave a quick nod over to Lydia to confirm that Derek had been properly prepped. She gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before she got up from the table to join the boys who were all watching anxiously from the wall.

“Lydia? This is safe, right?” Scott asked from the sidelines.

“Yeah,” Allison agreed as she sidled up next to him. “Are you sure you don’t want to practice first?”

Lydia stopped waving her wand in the air. She huffed in disgust. “Would all of you _please_ stifle yourselves? Flitwick wouldn’t have trusted me to do this on my own if I wasn’t the best charms student he’s ever seen.”

“Minus that incident you had last year when you were practicing teleportation charms with Goldberg,” Jackson chimed in.

“Shut UP, Jackson!”

Derek looked up. His eyes widened in surprise at Lydia’s screech.

“Wait. Wait. Wha-what happened to Goldberg?” Stiles asked, the color draining from his face.

“He just went missing for a few days,” Scott offered innocently.

“But, I mean, they finally _found_ him…right?”

“Yeah, yeah” Jackson answered. “I mean, _most_ of him.”

Lydia bit her lip. Derek gulped as he watched her confidence shrink back a bit.

Stiles took a deep breath. “Okay. I am _officially_ freaking out now. Lydia? I trust your witchy prowess, but just… _please_ be careful with him!”

Derek took this as an opportunity to voice his concern.

“Devrais-je m'inquiéter?”

“Hey! HEY!” Lydia shouted as she waved her wand in Allison’s direction to get her attention. “Don’t translate any of these ringing endorsements, okay?”

Allison held up her hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” She replied to Derek in subtle way that appeased his anxiety and avoided any _technical_ lying:

“Mes amis sont en cours bizarre. Il suffit de les ignorer. Tout va bien se passer.”

Lydia waited until Derek nodded his final consent.

“Okay then,” she said as she steadied her hand. “Here we go. _Entendio Echora_!”

Plumes of purple smoke exploded from Lydia’s wand. The smoke amassed into tiny spider-like creatures that began to crawl across the table towards Derek’s body. He flinched slightly as the spiders reached his ears. The creatures started to spin wispy, purple threads over his ears, faster and faster, until they were completely covered with the magical substrate. Finally, the spiders disappeared and the threads sunk deep into head.

“Derek?” Lydia asked “Can- can you understand what I’m saying?”

There was a significant pause before they anything happened. Derek looked up. He smiled and then nodded his head vigorously.

“Oui!”

“Uh, Lydia? What’s with the tape delay?” Jackson asked.

Lydia frowned. “Part of the fine print. The spell works by echoing whatever he hears and then reshaping the echoes into his native language. That means that he can understand everything we’re saying, but only a few seconds after we say it. Also keep in mind that the charm can’t translate anything he says for our benefit, so if you ask him something, try to keep it twenty questions style- “ _yes or no”_ inquiries only.

The group nodded that they understood.

“Alright,” Lydia said as she rose from the table. “Who’s up for Butterbeer?”

Scott, Stiles, Jackson, and Alison all sang out a happy chorus of glee at the prospect.

Everyone turned to look at Derek, who was still strangely silent.

A second later, Derek’s face lit up and he called out his cheery affirmative: “Je suis! Je suis!”

“Oh boy,” Jackson sighed. “This is going to be interesting.”

***

“I didn’t realize we had a secret passageway to Hogsmeade right here in the castle,” Allison remarked as the group started to make its way down the stone corridor. “How did you guys even discover it?”

“Fun Fact,” Jackson deadpanned. “Secret passageways are almost as common around here as regular passageways.” He and Lydia started touching the wall with their fingertips, searching for something.

“Okay,” Allison said wearily, trying to ignore the sarcasm. “But how did you guys discover _this_ secret passageway?”

 Lydia moved further down the hallway, her fingers tracing the stone with every step. “A systematic implementation of meticulous trial and error.”

Jackson turned around to offer an elaboration.

“Basically we ran down empty hallways when no one was around and shouted “ _Alhomora_ ” over and over again until something happened.”

“Jackson!” Lydia said as she swatted his shoulder. “Don’t diminish our methodology!”

“Hey, Jackson?” Stiles asked from the back of the group. “Out of curiosity, how many times has Lydia hit you today?”

“I lost count,” Jackson groused.

“Well, on the plus side, by now you’re probably developing a callous, right?”

Everyone in the group laughed at the joke. Derek smiled and turned to look appreciatively at Stiles for telling it. Stiles blushed at the attention, never so happy to have a sense of humor.

“Why didn’t I make the mark for the passageway more distinct the last time we were here?” Lydia lamented aloud.

“Probably because we were too busy making out,” Jackson answered, heedless of those around him. He turned to the right and groaned. “Oh, Jesus Christ…”

Lydia snapped her head up. “What? What?!”

“It’s Hannah - _freaking_ \- Abbot.”

Hannah Abbot had turned into the corridor and quickly spotted her fellow Hufflepuffers, Scott and Stiles. In no time at all, she had engaged them in conversation. Allison and Derek had managed to stand off to the sides and avoid the trap, but it was only a matter of time before Hannah pulled them into her Black Hole of Boring Prattle.

Jackson looked inconsolable. “We are _never_ going to leave on time if she keeps this up.”

“I know,” Lydia agreed. “Bitch could talk the paint off a wall.”

“What do we do?”

“Relax. I’ll handle this.”

 Lydia sauntered over to the Hufflepuff group. Scott and Stiles looked simultaneously relieved for their own sake and worried for Hannah’s safety once they saw Lydia approach them.

“Heeey Anna,” Lydia said as she gave the young lady a quick hug. “How have you been? How’s every little thing?”

Hannah exhaled her disbelief. “It’s Hannah, Lydia. Not Anna. You’ve known me since we were both first years.”

“That’s nice,” Lydia grinned, taking Hannah by the shoulders and slowly moving her away from the rest of the group. “C’mon now. Walk with me. Talk with me.”

Once Lydia had led Hannah off to a private corner of the hallway, she turned her around.

“Look sweets, it’s been real, but we need you to amscray so we can use the hallway.”

Hannah looked dumbfounded. “But- But I was just telling Stiles and Scott about this mysterious letter I got from a secret admirer!” She held up the letter, erroneously thinking that offering proof would somehow make Lydia Martin take her seriously. “See? It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever written me and I’m trying to find out if anyone recognizes the handwrit-“

“Ahh tut tut tut tut tut,” Lydia said as she held a finger up to Hannah’s lips, shushing her gently. “I don’t need the details, kitten. This isn’t _Behind the Music_ and you’re not an 80’s era hair metal band. To reiterate: We need the hallway for some super serious business, so get out of here before I tell everyone about your secret lisping problem. You know, the one you try _so_ hard to hide?”

Hannah covered her mouth. “You wouldn’t!”

“Oh no?” Lydia asked with raised brows. “I’m feeling _particularly_ sibilant today. Wanna try me?”

Hannah lowered her hand. She looked torn between rage and sorrow.

“You’re evil incarnate.”

“Thorry,” Lydia shrugged. “I juth can’t help mythelf.”

 Hannah frowned at her for a moment before she shifted her gaze to address Scott and Stiles standing far behind them. After being rattled by Lydia, she had to concentrate extra hard to avoid lisping as she spoke.  

“I’ll…suh- _see_ …you guys later!”

Stiles waved to her. He and Scott tried to muster up a cheerful send off.

“Bye Hannah!”

“Bye Anna!” Lydia echoed cruelly. She quickly returned to the group where she was met with skeptical looks from everyone except Jackson, who instead seemed intensely aroused by her act of unrepentant bitchery.

Stiles pretended to jab his right hand with his forefinger. “By the pricking of my thumb, something wicked…”

“Oh please,” Lydia scoffed as she dismissed him and turned back to the wall. She ran her hands over the stone again, still searching for the mark. “If I didn’t make her leave, our entire schedule would be thrown off and we’d never get to Dervish and Banges on time. Don’t make me out to be the bad guy just because I did what everyone wanted to do but couldn’t.”

The group was silent. Derek looked down at the floor with guilty eyes. Before Stiles could offer him any consolation, Lydia spoke up.

 “Finally!” She exclaimed. “Here it is!  Everyone ready?”

The group gave a collective nod. Lydia backed up a bit, faced the wall, and raised her wand high into the air.

“ _Alohomora_!”

That segment of the corridor began to shimmer. Then, each of the stone pieces started to fold itself back into the wall, revealing a shadowy, wooden staircase that led down into a dark tunnel.

Lydia stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Voila!” She moved over to Jackson and took his arm. “Okay, everyone _please_ make sure to hold onto somebody. The stairs are wide, steep, and the passageway is really dark. The best way to do this is to have one person use Lumos to light the way and then have that person hold onto the other person who then holds onto the handrail. Hurry up, guys! I have to close the passageway fast before anyone else finds us!”

Allison quickly took Scott’s hand. She and Scott gave Stiles a look before they followed Lydia and Jackson down the staircase. Stiles suspected that perhaps all this was planned, but it didn’t matter. There would be time enough for an investigation later. He looked over to Derek, afraid to find out how he felt about this buddy system notion that his friends had concocted.

“Don’t worry about Lydia’s recommendation. My friends are just being…well…What I mean is that we can just go down the stairs separately, if you want. No pressure of course,” Stiles said as he looked down, unable to hold eye contact with him any longer.

Derek paused to process the offer. He shook his head and offered his arm to Stiles.

Stiles happily took it. “All right then,” he nodded as he raised his arm in the air. “ _Lumos_.”

With his wand lit, Stiles and Derek slowly started to make their descent down the wooden staircase. Being unable to balance himself with his wand-hand was unnerving, so Stiles found himself gripping Derek’s arm a little tighter than he had originally intended.

Thankfully, Derek didn’t seem to mind.

As Stiles felt the stone wall close behind him at Lydia’s sharp command, he flinched and lost his balance. Derek pulled him in a closer so that there was virtually no space between them now.

Stiles gulped. “Thanks,” he whispered. He didn’t dare keep his eyes off the floor, but he could feel Derek smiling in his peripheral vision.

“Ne vous inquiétez pas. C'est un plaisir de s'agripper à vous.”

Stiles had no idea what Derek had said to him, but it sounded really nice.

“ _Man_ ,” Stiles thought to himself. “ _I hope D &B can fix his gizmo up in a jiffy. This language barrier thing is *really* killing my game.”_

***

“What a _horrible_ woman,” McGonagall exclaimed once Umbridge had finally left the office.

“Minerva…”

“Albus! She _threatened_ the students.”

“She has no authority here. She only wanted to have the final word on the matter.”

McGonagall shrugged her shoulders. “It would still be wise for us to remain vigilant. And in light of all that vitriol that she spewed about lycanthropic students, I can’t help but think of poor Remus. Oh, Albus, what will happen if we can’t find him-”

There was a flurry of noisy steps that echoed down the hall. McGonagall and Dumbledore turned to look in the direction of the office door. A mighty force swung it open in one gesture and there, standing before them, was a bespectacled professor with wild hair, doubled over in an painful attempt to catch her breath.

“Professor Trelawney?”

“ _Minerva_ …” Professor Trelawney gulped. “ _Albus_ … I must tell you both….tell you… _immediately_ …” She stopped for a moment to clutch at her side.

“Sybil,” Dumbledore said softly. “Please sit down. Collect yourself and then tell us what’s wrong.” Dumbledore moved to get her a glass of water.

Trelawney lurched forward and collapsed in the chair across from Dumbledore. She leaned her head back and began to pat her chest while she panted. Dumbledore gave her the glass of water. She drank heartily.  

 “I- I have been plagued by portents!  Earlier today, while I was practicing meditation techniques with my advanced divination class, a dark vision revealed itself to my inner eye.”

Dumbledore listened intently. McGonagall, feeling sympathetic, resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“This was no mere vision. It was so much more _vivid_ than anything I had ever before experienced. I was in the woods of the Forbidden Forest, listening to the crunching of dead leaves on the ground. Suddenly, there was rustling in a nearby thicket and then an ungodly howl. I started to run! The wind stung my eyes. The branches and brambles cut my face with their thorns and thistles. Then I fell. After that, I saw only impressions; brief _flashes_ of terrible images, all jumbled together and out of order…like a fallen house of cards. There was blood dripping into thick, red pools. White bone glistening in the darkness. A body, lying motionless on the ground. The full moon rising high into the night sky. A kiss. A scream. A tear...”

McGonagall huffed. She was obviously exasperated by the overly poetic dramatics of Professor Trelawney’s recollection.

“So what does it all _mean_ then, Sybil?”

Trelawney’s face sobered. “The body I saw on the ground…I was not certain who it was at the time, but upon further reflection, I am quite sure of it now…” Trelawney sniffled a bit, eyes tearing slightly.

“It was…Stiles.”

Trelawney took off her glasses. Her face became deathly serious.

“I believe that Mr. Stilinski is in _imminent_ , mortal peril.”


End file.
